


the one string that's out of tune

by kkeys4



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cheese, Comfort, Crying, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hugs, Light Angst, Self-Doubt, i guess??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:51:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkeys4/pseuds/kkeys4
Summary: The ball thuds thuds thuds, bouncing against the shiny linoleum floor.Then it taps taps taps taps until its energy runs out and it rolls slightly to the left.The cheering, the incessant squeak of shoes; it’s all gone; all faded into nothingness, at least in Yamaguchi’s mind, as the ball stops in its place on their side of the court.   Their side of the court.





	

**Author's Note:**

> idk apparently my kink is making the most precious characters cry is this my life's purpose 
> 
> proof-read by me so hmu if you spot any mistakes.
> 
> i hope you enjoy this cheese fest 
> 
>  
> 
> Fic Title: Let Me Love the Lonely / James Arthur
> 
> Posted: 21:00 pm (GMT time)

The ball thuds thuds thuds, bouncing against the shiny linoleum floor.

Then it taps taps taps taps until its energy runs out and it rolls slightly to the left.

The cheering, the incessant squeak of shoes; it’s all gone; all faded into nothingness, at least in Yamaguchi’s mind, as the ball stops in its place on their side of the court.

_Their side of the court._

So monumentally far from where it’s supposed to be that he doesn’t know how, doesn’t know _why,_ he miscalculated this much. The ball is still, not vaulting through the air, bouncing back and forth between the hands of concentrated receivers, or eager spikers. It’s totally and utterly _still._  

Things slowly drift back into his awareness, his shattered form of perception.

He hears them first: the few spoken words of encouragement, the ‘don’t mind Yamaguchi’ ‘s, the ‘you’ll get it next time!’ ‘s. But none of it matters. Because what did matter, the thing that was Yamaguchi’s one and only job has crumpled into failure and it’s no one’s fault but his own. No one deserving of the blame but him. The encouragement is false, most likely, just required mutters of acknowledgement of what is a brief, unfortunate but not significant, blip in the never-ending flow of the game. 

He knows that technically it shouldn’t matter. In the scheme of things, at least, they can still win the final set, win the game and go home victorious. In fact, he’s certain that they will. He knows this, he knows this more than anyone yet it still matters, matters so, _so_ much. It matters it matters it matters and in his one single moment in the spotlight, all of his work, all of his dedication meant nothing. Brushed aside with a simplistic ease. He slumps down onto the bench. It’s all his fault.

It’s all his fault that once again, he didn’t manage to deliver, didn’t manage to offer anything of any substantial worth to the team – _his_ team. Once again, he was the useless addition in what will be another successful game.

Useless.

**_Useless._ **

He may try, he may work tirelessly day in and day out to bring something to the game, to advance and grow along with the rest of his team mates, but in the end, when it mattered, it amounted to nothing. All of his hard work meant absolutely nothing.

He may want so desperately to feel the rush of satisfaction he sees glinting in their eyes, in Hinata’s after perfectly executing the freak quick; Noya’s after receiving another seemingly unstoppable spike; even Tsukishima’s after flawlessly blocking ball after ball after ball. He wants to know that feeling so badly. So badly, that he trains and trains and trains and trains just to even catch a glimpse of it, to feel even a fraction of the joy that he knows volleyball brings his fellow teammates.     

But ultimately, he failed, and now he’s left with nothing. Nothing that’s worth anything at least.

He’s smart, but not overly so.

Kind, but irrelevantly so.

Determined, but unable to deliver when it counts.

His lack of even a single shred of talent buries Yamaguchi, suffocating him under its weightless mass. If he tries this hard yet is still unable to accomplish anything, then what’s the point? Why build it up so much to just be unavoidably disappointed? If, at the end of the day, his work brings no merit, doesn’t reap what he has tirelessly sewn, why keep trying?

The bruised fingers; the aching muscles; the warm, pulsing palms; the scraped knees; the sleepless nights; the tired, worn eyes; the cheeks red from exertion; the desperate pants for breath as he tries to get the ball to hit home just _One. More. Time_ : it all led up to this. This disappointing, yet, if he’s honest, not entirely unexpected, ending.

Then he hears it, the cheers of victory. They won. They won and he should be happy _why isn’t he happy._ He feels his lower lip begin to tremble and he sniffs, once, then once more, trying to dispel the rapidly oncoming tears. Crying in front of his rejoicing teammates would be the cherry on top of the cake of his failure, so he’s resolute on keeping it locked up inside until he’s alone and away.

He rises on shaky feet and steps forward to follow after the team on equally shaky legs. He keeps it bottled up and up and up as they head towards the exit, but eventually something falters, as it so often does. His legs stop working, everything stops _fucking working_ and then he’s frozen, stood in front of his equally stationary teammates who are beginning to catch on, if they hadn’t already. Just as he reaches breaking point, his emotional threshold well and truly battered, a voice reaches him, as it always has.

“Tadashi.”

Yamaguchi flinches, shoulders hunching up as he raises his head timidly, not shocked yet not entirely pleased to see the whole team staring at him. There’s concern in their eyes that he knows he doesn’t deserve nor want. When his eyes find the speaker, he feels the cloud in his chest condensing all at once.

Tsukishima’s stood there, elegant weight balanced on one hip with his long arms outstretched in Yamaguchi’s direction. His gaze is mixed parts nonchalance and worry that Yamaguchi knows most people don’t believe Tsukishima to be capable of.  The team look back and forth in a form of nervous anticipation, eyes flitting between the two in obvious shock at the offered display of affection. Yamaguchi is overwhelmed by his failure, Tsukishima’s unwarranted kindness and the crippling barrage of emotions inside him and he doesn’t know what to do, what he _should_ do.

It’s easy, really, what he should do, so eventually he lets himself snap in two and run on autopilot, a choked sob erupting from his chest as he barrels into Tsukishima’s open arms.

“Tsukki!”   

It all bursts out all at once when he collides with Tsukishima’s chest, nestling against him and sobbing harder and harder and harder when warm arms encircle him and protect him from everything and anything. He feels so safe, and secure and, for once, balanced as he finds comfort in the familiarity of Tsukishima’s embrace. His own hands clutch tightly to the back of Tsukishima’s jersey, crumpling and creasing the fabric beneath his trembling fingers.

He feels safer, better, this much is true. However, no matter how much comfort he draws from being wrapped up in Tsukishima’s arms, it’s not enough. Not enough to rid the underlying sadness consuming everything. He’s sad now, of _course_ he is, yet as much as it hurts and as much as he wants it to just stop, the sadness is somewhat bearable. At least, compared to the all-consuming, empty _numbness_ that he knows he’ll feel later.

He wishes, wishes _so_ much that he could say all of his stress dissipates and floats away as a result of Tsukishima’s secure touch; it doesn’t.

It doesn’t, and Yamaguchi doubts that it ever will completely, but as much as it still hurts, the hug offers him a short reprieve; a chance to hide from the world and just let it all out. No risk of judgement, no risk of rejection, no risk of failure, just his emotions being released from where he’s kept them caged up. He knows it’s not everything but in these moments, it means so, so much.

He starts sobbing harder into Tsukishima’s chest, composure cracking in a place where he knows, from experience, that it will be built back up. Maybe there will be parts missing, maybe it won’t be the same as before but he always manages to pull himself back together in the end, this he can say with confidence. It’s one of the few things he’s certain on.

Tsukishima’s arm wraps tightly around his back, the other coming up to push Yamaguchi’s head into his neck in the exact same way he always has done. Even if his mental and emotional state has gradually deteriorated, Tsukishima has always been the one constant in his life, the only one able to offer him this level of comfort. He doesn’t offer him any words of reassurance; he never has done or has been expected to. He just stands there in silence, shielding him from the world and his insecurities because, no matter now judgemental he may seem, he has never once truly looked down on Yamaguchi and never will.  This is another thing he can be certain about.

He runs his hand through Yamaguchi’s hair, fingers drawing wavy lines across his scalp as the boy in his arms sobs and sobs. When his tears become heavier, clipped gasps for breath louder, Tsukishima nudges him back, pushing gently and subconsciously tapping a regular beat onto his back. He’s hesitant to let go at first but eventually Yamaguchi loosens his grip on Tsukishima’s jersey and unwinds one arm, taking a small step backwards, eyes downturned. Tsukishima puts one hand on his upper arm, rubbing it encouragingly as his other arm pulls Yamaguchi’s free of his jersey.

Yamaguchi lifts both hands to his mouth to stifle the relentless sobs bubbling up and escaping through his vocal chords, cupping the jumbled syllables of ‘tsu’, ‘ukki’, ‘tuki’, ‘su’ inside his palms. Tsukishima simply stares down at him and pulls one of his hands back, holding it up and sliding his longer fingers through the gaps, clasping and winding their hands together.

Yamaguchi turns large, tear-filled eyes up towards him and Tsukishima smiles slightly, squeezing their hands together with a force that Yamaguchi knows would hurt if he was in a more stable state of mind. For now, the consolatory touch is soothing as Tsukishima begins to speak softly, his tone low enough that Yamaguchi knows it’s for his ears alone.

“You’re you, and you’re okay. You tried, and yeah, maybe it wasn’t everything you’re capable of but you still did it and you can still do it again; today, tomorrow, whenever. You did it, Tadashi, and I know that you’ll keep doing it until you pull through. Everyone knows you can, so, if you can’t believe in yourself, then believe in them. Just because you can’t do it now, that doesn’t mean you never can. Chin up. Do you think I’d lie to you?”

Tsukishima smirks and Yamaguchi lets out a wet laugh, scrubbing at his nose and nodding.

“Come on. We’re leaving now.”

With that, Tsukishima’s hand slips from his own and he turns, walking away as Yamaguchi’s arm falls limply to his side. The team and Tsukishima step further and further away and Yamaguchi breathes deeply, closing his eyes. _Once in, then once out._

When his eyes reopen, he adjusts to the bright light of the gym and feels sparking electricity crawl through his veins, powering up his muscles and setting his nerves alight. Then, he jogs, runs runs runs runs with everything he has until he skids to a halt at Tsukishima’s side, hands clenched into fists as he grins up at him, the corners of his eyes creasing.  

And he’s okay, for once - he's okay, as he knows that although he isn’t everything, he can be anything and for now, he’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> look at all that cheese
> 
> i was trying to be symbolic at the end can you tell
> 
> feel free to chat with me in the comments and thanks for reading


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